


A Pregnant Complex

by Nary



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bondage, F/M, Impregnation, Infidelity, Pregnancy, Pregnant Sex, Prostitution, Public Sex, Vaginal Sex, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-30
Updated: 2010-11-30
Packaged: 2017-10-13 11:26:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/136841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nary/pseuds/Nary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn't unplanned, not precisely. Lucius just had to be forced into it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Pregnant Complex

_"Oh, oh yes, Lucius! Come inside me, please," Narcissa begged, clutching at his shoulders hard enough to leave two rows of red crescents behind. He tried to hold out longer, but it was building fast, too fast..._

It wasn't unplanned, not precisely. Lucius just had to be forced into it. They had always intended to have children one day, but they were young yet, only twenty-five, and there were still many years ahead of them to worry about that sort of thing. He knew that Narcissa was growing impatient for a baby after three years of marriage – she'd even taken, most uncharacteristically, to cooing admiringly over Mudblood infants, though she always made a point of reminding him later how much more clever and beautiful the pureblood children they would make together would be. Lucius thought all infants, regardless of their blood, looked roughly the same, tiny and feeble and oddly crumpled, and certainly not clever. They created off-putting noises and odours and stains the way goblins made gold, or house elves generated clean socks. And they would always insist on bursting into tears when he held them.

Still, it wasn't as if he would be the one responsible for midnight feedings and diaper changes. And they needed a child to carry on the noble Malfoy name. So eventually he'd given Narcissa his permission to stop taking her contraceptive potion, and they would let nature take its course. And yet, something still held him back. He became unusually interested in anal sex, an aficionado of blowjobs, expert at pulling out just in the nick of time. One morning when he drew back and spurted onto Narcissa's breasts, she unexpectedly burst into tears.

"It seems like you don't even want an heir!" she shrieked, wrapping herself in the bed linens and rolling as far away from him as she could possibly get. He tried to comfort her, insisting he hadn't meant anything by it, but she was icily furious at him for three days. He slept in the second-best bedroom until she forgave him, and knew that when she finally deigned to let him back into their bed, he would have to do his duty, no more messing about.

 _No more messing about._ That was what it came down to, really. Having a baby would mean no more messing about in bed until noon, no more freedom to drop everything and fly to the Continent for a romantic getaway, no more having Narcissa all to himself, whenever he wanted her. He was, in essence, being asked to produce a tiny rival for his wife's affections. How… what was the word? Freudian, he thought that was the Muggle term.

On some level, Narcissa seemed to recognize that his infuriating reticence wasn't completely under his control. The night she forgave him for his ejaculatory faux pas, she also plied him with a bottle of excellent wine, dry and white, just the way he liked it. When she stripped off her dressing gown and revealed a lacy negligée so fine he could almost, but not quite, see through it, he stiffened immediately to attention. She smiled seductively as she straddled his lap, then pressed him back into the chair with a long, lingering kiss, gripping him hard by the wrists. In the moment before he knew what was going on or which way was up, she'd tied his hands behind his back with the silken belt from her robe.

He struggled, but only slightly. "Darling, ah…"

"Don't worry, my love," she cut him off. "I'll take care of everything." And she did. She carefully unbuttoned his shirt, pushing it open to reveal smooth, pale skin, then ran her hands down his body to work on his trousers. She lovingly drew out his cock, caressing its length, and then, without a further word, lowered herself onto him in one smooth motion. Lucius gasped, longing to push that delicate slip up and cup her breasts, but had to confine himself to lifting his hips slightly to meet her.

She was more aggressive than usual, kissing him as though she wanted to devour him, nipping his lower lip until it was red and swollen, and for a moment he had uncomfortable thoughts of certain insect species who bite their males' heads off after mating. But the hot, slick grip of her around him soon drove all such alarming visions from his mind. "Yes," she kept moaning as she rode him, "yes, yes, that's it," all the while digging her fingers into his shoulders hard enough to bruise. The slight edge of pain made it the more delicious, and soon he was only a few heartbeats away from his climax.

"Come inside me, Lucius," she murmured against his ear, and sucked the soft flesh of its lobe between her perfect pink lips. "Make a baby with me!" As she bit down, he arched up beneath her and came with a violent cry, pulsing into her over and over again. She stayed there, head resting on his shoulder, until he was finished, and then a few minutes longer for good measure, before rising gingerly and half-wiggling, half-hopping onto the bed to lie down.

"Narcissa, sweetheart…?" he said hopefully, still bound.

"Do it yourself," she replied. "Or call for a house elf. I'm not about to get up and have everything just …dribble out."

He managed to get himself free, fortunately for his remaining dignity. The house elves had surely seen more peculiar things in their day, but he still didn't relish the thought of asking one for aid in untying him from a chair, half-naked and still sticky from sex.

***

If he'd thought about it much, Lucius would have expected to be put off by the changes to Narcissa's body, but as it turned out, the very opposite was true. He was fascinated by the way her breasts swelled, nipples darkening from pale pink to brown. Narcissa bought some sort of rose-scented ointment from the apothecary that was supposed to prevent stretch marks, but Lucius spent more time rubbing it on her growing belly than she did herself. Even the smell of her, the taste of her on his tongue, changed, becoming stronger, more feral.

And pregnancy made Narcissa more lascivious, at least at first. He would come back late from a meeting with the Dark Lord, slip into bed trying not to wake her, only to have her wake _him_ up in the middle of the night by slyly stroking his cock or sucking it, soft and heavy, between her lips, urging it to full size before he'd finished blinking away the sleep from his eyes. Once she even persuaded him to fuck her while they were out shopping for Christmas presents in Diagon Alley, pulling him into a darkened gap between two buildings and lifting her skirts despite the chill in the air. As Lucius slammed into his wife from behind, her palms pressed against a grimy brick wall that she would never dream of touching under normal circumstances, he half-dreaded, half-savoured the idea of being caught. In the end, though, he clamped a hand tight over her mouth when she came, muffling her scream, and managed to keep himself silent through sheer force of will. They walked away afterwards with what poise they could muster on shaky legs, and she leaned on his arm, looking up at him with flushed cheeks and unalloyed adoration.

As winter ripened into spring, and their child did the same within her, sex became more difficult, but they rose to the challenge, finding positions that were bearable for her aching back and heavy belly. He learned to appreciate lying side-by-side with her, her back pressed to his stomach, helping lift her thigh just enough to give him entrance, both of them laughing between gasps at how ridiculous they must look.

He loved to suckle her swollen breasts, teasing those remarkable nipples between his lips. Only once did she dare joke that soon he would have to share them with the baby – the cold stare he gave her was enough to put an end to that. As the birth drew closer, the worries he'd managed to suppress began to surface once more, now compounded by the immediacy of the thing. One night he dreamed that he was fucking Narcissa until realized that she was actually his mother, which jolted him from sleep in a cold sweat. He dreaded the arrival of this little invader who would so disrupt their lives, the broken sleep, the noise, the bodily fluids everywhere… He would never have admitted that he was afraid of the responsibility that came with fatherhood, afraid that perhaps his child would be a disappointment – or that _he_ would – and yet the unwanted fears persisted.

In response, he grew more sullen and withdrawn as her due date approached, retreating into his study or ensuring that his meetings with his fellow Death-Eaters to take him away from the manor. Bellatrix laughed even as she warned him her sister would think he was having an affair, but he paid her no mind.

Lucius wasn't there when their son was born. The night before, Narcissa had complained that her back was hurting, but since her back seemed to hurt all the time these days, he paid her little heed. The next morning she told him she was feeling better, just weary, and encouraged him to go ahead with his plans for the day. "I'll be fine," she told him with a wavering smile.

His plans included a meeting with a promising junior Obliviator, at the conclusion of which chat he placed her under the Imperius Curse, followed by a friendly visit to a blood-traitor family in Trowbridge, who turned out to be rather more resourceful than he'd expected. What was supposed to be a simple interrogation turned into an exhilarating chase along the canal and ended with a body left hanging from Pulteney Bridge as a warning to others. As such, it was much later than expected when he arrived back at the manor, and by then all of the excitement was over. The midwife was already packing up her bag, but she took the time to tell him that he had a healthy baby boy before she departed.

Narcissa and the baby were resting; he didn't wish to disturb them, but he had to see the child. Little Draco (the name they'd agreed on months before – Draco for a boy, Alya for a girl) was lying in the ornate cradle that had sheltered seven generations of tiny Malfoys. He was sleeping so peacefully that Lucius was seized with a sudden fear that he wasn't breathing. He laid a tentative hand on the tiny chest and felt it rise, felt the tiny heart flutter beneath his fingers, and was immensely, unexpectedly relieved.

"He's perfect," he said, half to himself.

Narcissa stirred. "Where were you?" she asked him, keeping her voice low so as not to wake the baby.

"I was busy. Things took longer than anticipated."

Her blue eyes were ringed with red, from exhaustion or weeping he couldn't tell. "You should have been here," was all she said, accusing him with her icy gaze.

***

He knew it would take her time to recover from the delivery, which had apparently been very hard on her. She turned inward during those first months, utterly focused on the baby, and everything he had dreaded came to pass. The first time he tried to touch her breast after the birth, she slapped his hand away, and though she apologized afterwards, telling him they were just sore, he couldn't help but take it to heart. Narcissa and Draco were in their own little world, and he didn't know how to join them there. He buried himself in his work, which of late involved wrestling with that blasted prophecy to no avail.

Six months passed without more than a kiss passing between husband and wife, and Lucius struggled mightily with himself before finally giving in. Miniver's in Knockturn Alley was a place he hadn't visited since before he was married – immediately before he was married, in fact. It hadn't changed much, but he had heard (in graphic detail) from Dolohov that they had a new acquisition – a metamorphmagus. It would cost him a hundred Galleons, but, he was assured, it would be well worth it.

She was skinny and short, with lank mouse-brown hair – not a hundred-Galleon-a-night whore, at least on the surface. He didn't ask if she was a Mudblood, not wanting to know the answer, for either way it would shame him. The name she used was clearly false, but her smile seemed genuine, not yet turned perfunctory by years of degradation. "So, tell me what you want."

"Blonde hair," he began without any hesitation, certain of that much at least. "Taller and, uh, bigger..." He gestured hopefully with both hands.

"Right, luv, I got the idea," she said, and changed before his eyes into a blonde bombshell who could have been a centrefold model.

"No," he snapped, irrationally annoyed with her for not knowing precisely what he wanted, wishing he didn't have to spell things out in such humiliating detail. "More ...aristocratic. And I'm not your 'luv'," he added coldly.

"More classy, less trashy?" she replied with an insolent wink that made him long to slap her into submission. Her cheekbones rose, her nose straightened, and her lips curled into an arrogant pout. It wasn't Narcissa, but it was close enough. He wouldn't have wanted this slattern to look like her double, anyhow – it would have seemed wrong. Wronger.

"All set?" she asked, clearly growing impatient to get down to business.

"No. Not quite. Could you be… I mean, could you look, ahem, pregnant?" He had to struggle not to blush, to keep his face regal and haughty, even though she'd no doubt heard stranger requests in her line of work.

"No problem," she said without so much as blinking, and he watched, perversely fascinated, as her belly swelled, months compressed into seconds. "Tell me when to stop."

"There, that's … that's good," he told her after she'd reached what looked like the six month stage. He was achingly hard, deprived as he'd been. She drew him down onto the bed and he tried, for a little while, to recapture what he'd lost. She moaned convincingly enough, and though she didn't move like a woman who was truly pregnant, it was close enough for him to fool himself, at least for a little while. He left quickly when he'd finished with her, not wanting to see her change back, preserving the fragile illusion as best as he could.

It was late when he arrived back at the manor, but Narcissa was awake nevertheless. Her silk dressing gown had a spit-up stain on the shoulder. She scrutinized him with suspicious eyes, but he held his chin up and casually told her he'd been out torturing a Mudblood.

She might even have believed him, if it weren't for the smell of the whore's perfume that still lingered about his hair when he kissed her goodnight.

Narcissa wasn't a slow-witted woman; she had to know what was at stake even if the precise details eluded her. They did not discuss the matter – it would have been too humiliating for both of them – but the next day she engaged the services of a nanny, a young woman from a respectable but unfortunately impoverished family, and then promptly went to her husband's study to suck him off, much to his surprise. He recognized the gesture for what it was – an apology without words – and he felt a renewed hope that perhaps everything might be all right after all.

When, not long afterward, Lucius voiced his considered opinion that one child was probably sufficient, Narcissa agreed immediately, suppressing any resentment she might have felt so ruthlessly that he later heard her proudly telling Bellatrix it had been her own choice. Once Draco decided to try and communicate like a proper human being (and clung less to his mother), Lucius even began to feel quite affectionate toward the little fellow.


End file.
